First Evil (14 page)

Even in a graveyard, there are living things, she thought. She shivered and dug her bare hands deeper into her coat pockets.

The wind died down as she made her way along the path through the old section of graves. Bobbi was buried in a new section up a little hill, away from the street. Corky knew the way well.

The old tombstones, poking up from the ground like rotting teeth, cast long shadows on the ground at Corky's feet. At the end of the first row, she stopped. Why did the stone on the end look familiar?

Creeping closer, her boots sinking into the mud, Corky read the inscription: SARAH FEAR. 1875-1899.

“Sarah Fear,” Corky said aloud, staring at the carved name. She suddenly remembered. This was the grave that Jennifer had been found sprawled on, on that horrible night she had been thrown from the bus.

“Sarah Fear.”

And what were these four stones behind Sarah Fear's grave?

Moving closer, Corky leaned down to read the low stones. The names had been worn off over the years. But the dates were clearly readable. They had all died in the same year: 1899.

Four grave markers with the same year that Sarah Fear had died.

What had happened? Corky wondered. Had Sarah Fear's entire family been wiped out at once?

People died so young back then, Corky thought, climbing back to her feet. Sarah Fear would have been only twenty-four.

Without realizing it, she uttered a loud sob.

Bobbi was only seventeen.

Hands shoved in her jacket pockets, Corky turned away from the old graves and made her way along the familiar path up to the new section.

The wind picked up again, cold and wet. She could hear a dog howling mournfully somewhere down the block. The trees shivered their wintry limbs. Dead leaves scattered as if trying to flee.

“Here I am again,” Corky said, placing a hand on top of her sister's temporary marker. “You're probably getting tired of seeing me.”

How many times had Corky visited her sister's grave since the funeral two weeks before? Nearly every day?

“I just miss you so much,” Corky whispered, holding on to the cold marker, feeling the tears well up in her eyes.

She thought about the funeral, saw it all again. The flowers, so bright and colorful and out of place on that gray, mournful day. Her parents, holding hands, leaning against each other, hiding their faces so outsiders couldn't see their pain.

Again, Corky saw the cheerleaders, huddled together, silent and pale. Jennifer stayed by herself in the wheelchair, a wool blanket over her legs, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Chip had been there too, looking awkward and uncomfortable. He had been nice to Corky, tried to say something comforting, but ended up stammering about how sorry he was and hurrying off.

And Kimmy. Kimmy had been there too. Standing a little way off from the other cheerleaders, her arms
crossed tightly in front of her, her expression grim, unchanging, her eyes on Chip.

A cold drizzle had begun to fall when they lowered Bobbi's coffin into the ground. Corky felt her mother's arms go around her and Sean. They were all weeping, she realized, their tears dropping into the open grave.

Corky had looked up through tear-clouded eyes to see Kimmy again, still staring at Chip. And then, as the drizzle turned to a hard, steady rain, people started to leave, pushing up their coat collars, ducking under black umbrellas.

Jennifer's father appeared and wheeled her away. Chip had hurried off, taking long, awkward strides over the mud. Kimmy left with the other cheerleaders, their heads lowered, bent against the wind and rain.

Corky and her family were left alone.

Without Bobbi.

Without Bobbi forever.

And now it was two weeks later, and Corky still couldn't get used to the idea that she no longer had her sister to talk to.

“I'm back again,” Corky said, turning her eyes up to the full moon. “I know you can hear me, Bobbi. I—I just wish you could answer.”

Her next words caught in her throat. She stopped, took a deep breath, taking in the sweet, cold air.

“I just wanted to tell you the news,” she continued after a long pause. “They made Kimmy captain of the cheerleaders. You probably guessed that would happen, right? Well, everyone seems real happy about it. Especially Kimmy. The news sure made her wrist get better in a hurry.”

Corky sighed. She rubbed her palm against the cold marker.

“Everyone turned to look at me when Miss Green made the announcement,” Corky continued. “As if I would throw a fit or storm out or something.” And then she added bitterly, “As if I would care.”

She kicked away a leaf that had blown onto a leg of her jeans. “I don't care anymore, Bobbi. I really don't,” she said with growing emotion. “I don't know what I care about now. I just wish you were here. So that I could apologize for being mean to you the night before . . . the night before you died. I just wish you were here so you could tell me what happened.”

Corky sobbed. “What happened in that shower room? Why didn't you open the door and come out? The police say you had some kind of seizure and died instantly. I was glad you didn't suffer, but I just can't understand it. Why? How did it happen? You weren't sick. You were in great shape. What happened, Bobbi? What happened?”

Then she was crying, big tears rolling down her cheeks, her nose running, the sound of her own cries pushed back at her by a rush of cold wind.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” she apologized to the silent, unanswering gravestone. “I keep coming here day after day, saying the same things. It's just—just—”

Corky shoved her hand into her jeans pocket, searching for a tissue. Digging deep, she found one, balled-up. She pulled it out.

And saw something shiny fall out.

She bent down and searched the wet ground at her feet until she found it. Then she stood to examine it.

Kimmy's megaphone pendant.

She had found it that day. On the locker-room floor. Near Bobbi's clothes.

On that horrible day.

She had tucked it into her jeans pocket, forgotten all about it.

As she stared at it, watching it gleam in the cold, white moonlight, Corky realized that here was a clue.

Here in her trembling hand.

Kimmy had been there. Kimmy had been in the locker room. Had been near Bobbi's things.

“Oh, no,” Corky said aloud, squeezing the pendant tight in her fist. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

Did Kimmy have something to do with Bobbi's death? No one had more motive, Corky realized.

No one resented Bobbi more than Kimmy.

In fact, it wasn't just resentment. It was hatred.

Open hatred.

Kimmy hated Bobbi because she was cheerleader captain. Because Chip had dropped Kimmy and asked Bobbi out. Because Bobbi was pretty and blond and talented, and Kimmy wasn't.

Because of
everything
.

“Yes, Kimmy was there,” Corky said aloud. “Kimmy was there when Bobbi died, and I have the proof in my hand.”

And then, without realizing it, she was running, running between the rows of graves, her boots sliding and slipping in the mud. With the pendant wrapped tightly in her fist, she was running down to the street.

And then she was home and in the car, starting it up, the engine roaring to life, the headlights cutting through the dark night air.

I have the proof. I have the proof.

And she squealed away from her house, following the curve of Fear Street, past the dark, old houses, past the trembling, nearly bare trees, and turned toward Kimmy's house.

A few minutes later, her heart pounding, the pendant still clutched tightly in her fist, she was staring up at the large, white-shingled house, the windows all lit up, a silver Volvo parked in the drive.

Kimmy's mother opened the door, surprised to see Corky there so late, unannounced. Corky rushed past her without any explanation, tore through the front hallway, swallowing hard, gasping for air, and burst into the den.

Kimmy was there with Debra and Ronnie.

“Hey—” she called out as Corky entered.

“Here,” Corky screamed accusingly, unwrapped her fist, and thrust the silver megaphone pendant into Kimmy's face.

Kimmy started, and her eyes grew wide with surprise.

“I
t's my proof!” Corky cried.

Ronnie jumped to her feet. Debra stared up at Corky from the floor, a notebook in her lap.

“My proof!” Corky repeated, holding the pendant in front of Kimmy's startled face.

“Where'd you get it?” Kimmy asked, locking her eyes onto Corky's.

“You left it somewhere,” Corky said, shaking all over from her anger.

“Huh?”

“You left it somewhere, and now it's my proof!” Corky exclaimed.

“Corky—are you okay?” Ronnie asked, moving over to her and putting a hand gently on her trembling shoulder.

“You'd better sit down,” Debra said, closing her notebook. “You don't look very well.”

Corky pulled away from Ronnie's hand. “You were there. You were there when Bobbi died,” she snarled, staring accusingly at Kimmy.

Kimmy's mouth dropped open, but she didn't reply.

“Here's my proof,” Corky said, waving the pendant in Kimmy's face.

“Listen to Debra,” Kimmy said finally. “Sit down.” She pointed to the couch. “You're not making any sense, Corky.”

“I found this in the locker room,” Corky said, ignoring Kimmy's words. “On the day Bobbi died. I found it on the floor. I found it.”

“Corky—please!” Kimmy insisted. “Sit down. Let me get you something hot to drink. You're shaking like a leaf!”

“Don't change the subject!” Corky screamed, realizing she was out of control, not caring, not caring at all. “I have the proof, Kimmy. I have the proof! I found your pendant under Bobbi's things.”

Kimmy's expression changed from surprise to concern. “Corky,” she said softly, “that pendant isn't mine.”

“H
uh?”

Corky took a step back, her expression one of suspicion and disbelief.

“It isn't mine anymore,” Kimmy said, her eyes on the pendant.

“But—but—”

“I gave it to Jennifer,” Kimmy said.

“She's telling the truth,” Debra said quickly. Holding her notebook, she climbed to her feet and stepped up beside Kimmy, as if taking sides. Ronnie had moved back to the window and was leaning against the ledge, a troubled look on her face.

“Jennifer?” Corky asked weakly, suddenly feeling as if she were falling, falling down a dark, endless hole.

“I gave it to Jennifer. About a month ago,” Kimmy said, resting her hands on her hips. “She was always
telling me how much she liked it. So one day I saw her in the hall before school, and I just gave it to her.”

“No,” Corky insisted. “You always wore it—”

“She's telling the truth,” Debra insisted. “I was there when Kimmy gave it to Jennifer. Jennifer was really happy.”

“I was tired of it anyway,” Kimmy said with a shrug. “The clasp was loose. It was always falling off.”

Corky stared hard into Kimmy's eyes. She was telling the truth, Corky realized.

But that meant . . .

“You
hated
my sister!” Corky declared, unwilling to let Kimmy off the hook.

Kimmy shook her head. She turned her eyes to the window. “I didn't like her very much, Corky. But I didn't hate her. I guess I resented her a lot. I guess I was a little jealous of her.”

“A
little?”
Corky cried.

“Okay, okay. A lot,” Kimmy admitted. “But I'm not a murderer! I wouldn't kill someone because of cheerleading!”

“Jennifer—” Corky stammered.

“Jennifer isn't a killer either,” Kimmy said softly. She shook her head. “You know that, Corky. Poor Jennifer—”

“But the pendant—” Corky said, staring down at it in her hand.